


(you live in my) dream state

by restlessoceans



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, M/M, implied unrequited iwaoi, olympic condom lore, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16931145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlessoceans/pseuds/restlessoceans
Summary: Hajime hasn’t had much to drink yet, he’s sure—but what he’s had is starting to catch up to him, or hehopesit is, if only to explain what he’s decided to do. His cheeks get hot as he shakes away his train of thought. Who is he trying to justify his attraction to Kuroo for?Oikawa, he thinks bitterly, for all his speeches on setter’s sense, isn’t looking his way anymore. He’s sure of it.In which Iwaizumi takes home Olympic gold, and... well, Kuroo, too.





	(you live in my) dream state

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittebasu (chanyeol)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanyeol/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6422014) by [kittebasu (chanyeol)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanyeol/pseuds/kittebasu). 



> kitten, you already know how i feel about your fic. at one point in time, it kept me grounded as a fraying third year architecture student, and now it’s keeping me together in my fifth and final year of college. so, in a culmination of love for you and your work, as well as an outwardly reluctant acceptance of your enabling, here is my interpretation of what you called “iwaizumi’s suspicious decisions in the years he wasn’t talking to oikawa.”
> 
> title is from "see you again" by tyler, the creator ft kali uchis.

It’s deafening.

The triumphant roar of the Japanese supporters steals Hajime’s own from his throat. The sting in his right palm brings him back to the moment, and it doesn’t quite register that he had hit the final toss, breaking free from match point, and securing the gold for Team Japan. He braces himself in a wide stance as his teammates jump on his back, but he falls over anyway.

It’s force of habit, after years upon years of playing, that makes him crane his neck towards where the setter usually stands, expecting to see Tooru’s eyes tearful but bright, his hand extended in a fist towards him. For a split second, that’s what he sees, and his chest feels tight with longing. When that moment passes, Hajime is met by Kuroo’s almost disbelieving stare, the color of his eyes and hair wrong, but the expression eerily similar.

“Nice kill, Captain,” Kuroo yells, his arm outstretched to help him up. Hajime takes it, using Kuroo’s weight to hoist himself up, ignoring the knot in his stomach as his mind faintly registers the difference between Kuroo’s large hands with broad fingers, softer than he expected, and Oikawa’s slim but calloused ones. “Let’s go shake their hands and celebrate.”

Hajime smiles genuinely, but his heart clenches anyway, when he remembers just who he’d promised to be with at the Olympic stage, who he thought he would stand next to as they shake their opponents’ hands, and bow to the audience.

—

The team celebrates with traditional food, prepared earnestly by their management, and they scarf it down quickly, grateful for the reminder of home. Afterward, they walk toward one of the bars near the Village. Most of the team leave after the first round of drinks on the house, either for a nightcap like Tobio, or to work their way to one of the noisier nightclubs downtown.

Hajime holds his third drink in between his palms, and when he looks up, he sees Kuroo finish his with a heavy gulp, his head tilted back to reveal the long line of his throat. Hajime doesn’t look away until Kuroo looks at him, curiously at first, then knowing. Kuroo tilts his head to the side, and licks the remaining moisture from his lips, the invitation unsaid but heavily implied since he’s extended it many times before. “Something on your mind?”

Hajime hasn’t had much to drink yet, he’s sure—but what he’s had is starting to catch up to him, or he _hopes_ it is, if only to explain what he’s decided to do. His cheeks get hot as he shakes away his train of thought. Who is he trying to justify his attraction to Kuroo for? Oikawa, he thinks bitterly, for all his speeches on setter’s sense, isn’t looking his way anymore. He’s sure of it.

“Nothing important,” Hajime says after a beat, standing up and pushing his hands down to the pockets of his sweatpants, too aware of how clammy they’ve gotten. “I was just thinking of heading back. You wanna walk together?”

Kuroo smiles, the glint of his teeth making him seem almost feline, and pushes his chair back.

—

The walk towards Kuroo’s hotel room is awkward. Hajime pumps his legs in long strides to quicken their pace, but Kuroo maintains a leisurely stroll behind him. When Hajime looks over his shoulder in exasperation, about to tell Kuroo off for making him look like a desperate fool, he finds him openly leering at Hajime’s ass.

“ _Stop that_ ,” Hajime hisses, his cheeks heating up again. “Pervert.”

“I’ve got eyes for a reason, Captain,” Kuroo says, moving his hand in a dismissive gesture. At that, Hajime takes two embarrassed steps toward Kuroo, grabs him by the wrist, and bodily drags him back to the hotel.

When Kuroo finally taps his hotel card into the sensor, and they both stumble inside, it’s as if a dam breaks loose. Kuroo’s hands are snaking around Hajime’s waist to reel him in, lips finding Hajime’s in the dim lighting of the room’s hallway. Adrenaline drums through Hajime’s limbs, his fingertips lighting up where they come in contact with the skin of Kuroo’s cheek. _It’s nice_ , Hajime thinks at the bold swipe of Kuroo’s tongue against his lower lip, _to feel wanted._

Hajime’s hands find their way to Kuroo’s hair, and he tugs on the strands, a little mean, earning him a low groan. Kuroo responds by moving his hands lower until they catch onto his thighs, just below the curve of his ass, and _lifts_. The movement makes Hajime’s crotch grind onto Kuroo’s stomach, and he hisses through his teeth, suddenly too turned on to do anything but hold on tight.

“Heavy,” Kuroo huffs against Hajime’s mouth, then lays a quick peck on his lips to counter the dirty look Hajime shoots his way before he dumps Hajime onto the bed. Kuroo’s hands lay flat on Hajime’s hips for a moment, then slide inward, undoing the knot of his track pants. He curls his fingers under the elastic to push it down to Hajime’s thighs.

“ _God_ ,” Kuroo breathes, his hands skimming the length of Hajime’s thighs, “Your thighs are so fucking huge, Iwaizumi.” His eyes flick up to meet Hajime’s, the gold in them accentuated by the room’s soft, orange light. “Will you let me fuck them later?”

Hajime groans, covering his face with his arm as Kuroo pulls his underwear down as well, embarrassed by the way the suggestion made his dick twitch in interest. “ _Kuroo._ Don’t you ever shut up?”

Kuroo hums, feigning thought. When he replies, his voice is a low rumble. “I could be convinced to, sometimes.”

And maybe that’s what draws Hajime to Kuroo the most, what made him agree tonight at the height of his loneliness, and adamantly refuse all the times before: the self-assured way in which Kuroo holds himself, so similar to the one he used to know with Tooru years ago, but genuine. On the court and now, he’s dependable with the sure movements of his hands.

One of Kuroo’s hands curls around the base of Hajime’s cock, the other presses down on his stomach, and Hajime’s train of thought derails and narrows down to the wet point of Kuroo’s tongue on the underside of his dick.

“ _Shit_ ,” Hajime breathes, his hands clenching at his sides, until Kuroo holds one of them by the wrist, and guides it to the back of his head as he closes his mouth on the head.

Catching on, he guides Kuroo’s mouth down slowly, breathing shallowly as he watches Kuroo take him down to the root. A flush is spreading prettily across Kuroo’s cheeks. Kuroo blinks up at him, tearing up slightly, with his mouth stretched around Hajime’s dick. The perimeter of his lips are wet with spit. Kuroo swallows around him.

The tightening of Kuroo’s throat makes Hajime pull on the short hairs at the back of Kuroo’s head. His hips jerk up against the hands that grip at his thighs. Hajime feels the moan Kuroo lets out down to his bones. He moves to run his hand across Kuroo’s hair, panting slightly. Kuroo pulls out to cough wetly once, his lips shiny and red, then proceeds to take Hajime in his mouth again. He bobs his head shallowly, wrapping his hand around what he can’t take inside his mouth.

Hajime throws his head back with a groan. Kuroo paints such a dizzying picture at the foot of the bed while he works Hajime slowly with his tongue and hands, and welcomes him into the silky, wet heat of his mouth. Hajime can feel his orgasm build up low in his belly. He curls up to get one of his hands on Kuroo’s shoulder to push him back. The words are half-formed on his lips—

When Kuroo decides to push down on his thighs again, taking Hajime all the way to the base and _swallows_. It punches all the air from Hajime’s lungs. His back arches off the bed, and he comes with a low moan, his eyes squeezed shut. Kuroo licks Hajime clean meanwhile, his tongue catching the last of his release from the tip.

Hajime comes down from his orgasm to find Kuroo sitting on his knees. Holding Hajime’s gaze steadily, Kuroo licks his lips and smirks. Hajime’s chest heaves with each breath. The layer of sweat he’s accumulated on his skin cools slightly as it meets open air.

“Turn to your side, would you?” Kuroo coos, his voice raspy and low. It takes Hajime a while to follow, distracted by how low the flush has spread down Kuroo’s chest. His limbs feel like they’re moving through gelatin, and Kuroo’s hands move him into position more than Hajime actually does. Kuroo slots himself at Hajime’s back, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along Hajime’s shoulder. Hajime shudders.

“You look so good like this,” Kuroo mumbles after he sucks a particularly dark hickey on Hajime’s shoulder. Hajime can feel Kuroo’s erection press against the back of his thigh. He pushes back against it mindlessly. “ _Hah —_ is this okay?”

“Yes,” Hajime says impatiently. “Yeah, it’s good, c’mon just _do it_ , whatever it is. I just _need_ —” Kuroo bites down, and Hajime’s spent cock feebly jumps at the contact.

“Patience,” Kuroo purrs. He moves away for a moment, and Hajime can hear him rustling around for something. The next thing he registers is something slick being smeared on the inside of his thighs. “Wanted to do this for months.”

The first slide of Kuroo’s erection between Hajime’s thighs makes his breath stutter. It feels filthy, filthier than all the other times Hajime had let strangers do worse. His last orgasm has him hyperaware, his skin oversensitive. The slick drag against his perineum has him gasping, a pitiful attempt of Kuroo’s name stuck at the tip of his tongue.

Kuroo has no such qualms using his words. It makes Hajime’s ears burn, makes him overheat where Kuroo’s hands grip his hips, and slide across his chest to thumb roughly at Hajime’s nipple.

“You should’ve seen yourself,” he whispers hotly, “taking that last point. I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone as much as I did you when you got us the gold. I swear to god your ass jiggled when you landed—couldn’t keep my eyes off it, I’ve always wondered how it would feel like in my hands—”

Hajime’s half-hard again. He presses his legs more firmly together. Kuroo lets out a choked groan. _“Fuck_ ,” he grits out, doubling his pace. “Keep doing that and this will be over quick.”

Hajime rests his head on Kuroo’s shoulder behind him, and he reaches back to cup the back of Kuroo’s head with his left hand. “Isn’t that the point,” he says breathlessly. He grinds back, emboldened by the effect he has on Kuroo. “Hurry up already.”

Kuroo’s hand finds its way to Hajime’s cock, smearing precome from the tip and sliding down. His movements are rough and jerky, and between that and the friction between his legs, it takes hardly any time to get Hajime close again.

“F-faster,” Hajime gasps out, a little desperate. And by the way Kuroo’s thrusts are losing their rhythm, he knows Kuroo’s nearing the edge too. “Harder, _fuck—please_ , I’m almost—”

Kuroo responds with a wicked twist of his wrist and a grinding thrust between Hajime’s thighs. This time Hajime just gasps, spilling over Kuroo’s hand, and feeling all his energy drain from his body. His orgasm has him loose-limbed and sleepy; the adrenaline from their win and the rush of getting laid are now gone. He faintly registers Kuroo come a couple of seconds after, his mouth wet and hot where it’s resting on Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime cranes his neck after a moment, and twists his body backward. His lips catch once, sweetly, against Kuroo’s, before he falls asleep.

—

Hajime blinks his eyes open. It’s dark. The hotel’s curtains block out the sunlight save for a small sliver that cuts diagonally through the room.

Hajime’s head is nestled at the center of Kuroo’s chest, warm, but not just from the constant heat of Kuroo’s body against his. He can feel Kuroo’s exhales blow through his hair. Kuroo’s come from last night is dry and flaky on the inside of Hajime’s thighs.

Hajime subtly tries to wiggle out of Kuroo’s hold, but it only serves to rouse him. “Iwaizumi,” he says, his voice rough from sleep. Hajime stills. “Up already?”

“I need to piss,” Hajime says bluntly, copping out of the inevitable conversation of _last night_ as much as he can. Kuroo hums, the sound of it settling deep in Hajime’s bones, reminding him of slick lips and tongue and expert hands. After a second, he moves away, and the airconditioning of the room hits him viciously. Using the comforter to cover up as much as he can, he twists his body around to look for his boxers, and in a swift move, pulls them on and dashes to the bathroom.

Once the door closes and locks behind him, Hajime takes calming breaths, then moves through his routine, mechanical movements to distract from the dread settling in the pit of his stomach. Kuroo’s bathroom, thankfully, doesn’t look far off from Hajime’s own a few doors over. It’s tidy in a way he didn’t expect from his teammate. Usually Oikawa would—

“Fuck,” he mutters, glaring at the shower head.

Stepping out of the shower, he huffs and stares his reflection down on the bathroom mirror, his hands on either side of the sink. “Kuroo,” he practices in a stage whisper while squeezing toothpaste into an extra disposable toothbrush, “last night was—”

_Great_ , his mind supplies, as he starts to brush his teeth. _A good distraction from being in love with my best friend_. “A mistake,” he mumbles around the foam in his mouth. He brushes his teeth with newfound vigor.

Hajime wraps a towel around his waist, and opens the door cautiously, peering out the crack for a sign of Kuroo. He finds him seated with his legs stretched out in front of him, playing a game on his ancient feature phone. Hajime thinks it might be _Snake_.

Kuroo curses, slamming his phone on the nightstand and looks up, the grimace morphing into an easy smile when it lands on Hajime. “Oi, captain, come here for a second.”

“Hopefully calling me that doesn’t become a weird sex thing you develop that disrupts our volleyball practices,” Hajime says, wincing at the idea. Kuroo just quirks his brow, as if to say, _not unless you want it to_. Hajime walks to the edge of the bed, then pauses to look down at the floor. “Look, about last night. It was… nice, but I think we just got caught up in the moment, and I don’t—I _can’t_ reciprocate any feelings—”

“No way,” Kuroo breathes, and Hajime at least has the grace to look him in the eye now, and take the full brunt of his guilt. “Iwaizumi, don’t tell me… you’re a virgin? Did I swipe your v-card last night—”

“ _What the fuck no I’m not a virgin!_ ”

“—it’s not that big of a surprise, too, now that I look back. Who would’ve thought the captain was a pillow princess—”

The rest of his sentence is cut off as Hajime leans over the bed, and jams a pillow forcefully at Kuroo’s face.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Hajime hisses, feeling heat settle high on his cheeks. “I’m not a virgin so shut up, I can’t _believe_ I was trying to be considerate to you—” He can feel the vibrations of Kuroo’s laughter through the pillow, and decides after a few seconds that his humiliation isn’t enough to warrant Kuroo’s death. He lets his hand fall, and he slumps down on the bed.

Kuroo picks the pillow from his face, that grin he had still stretching his cheeks wide. “Seriously, Iwaizumi. Who thinks sex automatically leads to a steady relationship these days? Are you fifteen?”

Hajime huffs. “Technically, I can break your pinkie now that we’ve won,” he deadpans. Kuroo just laughs again. “And I _don’t_ think sex equals going steady, I just thought— well, technically this isn’t an anonymous one-night stand, you know? Thought maybe I should go gentle on you. Not that I think you deserve it, now.”

“I’m not looking for romance from you, captain. Just a little fun since my agent’s been on my back with how many people I’ve been seen with recently.” Kuroo shrugs, quickly running a hand through his messy locks. “ _In fact_ —”

Kuroo leans over the edge of the bed. He digs for his track pants on the floor, emerging with a triumphant sound once he finds them. He moves to stand at the side of the bed and then, holding the pants by the legs, he shakes their contents onto the mattress. An indefinite amount of condoms and tiny lube packets fall out. Hajime gapes, dumbfounded.

“Bokuto and I found those dispensers in the hallways and we sort of emptied a couple of them out,” Kuroo offers as an explanation for the mountain of condoms in front of Hajime’s crossed legs. Kuroo puffs out his chest, his hands resting on his waist and sporting a ridiculous look on his face, just like the ones he uses during shoots for sponsorship ads. “What do you say to proving me wrong on the virgin front?”

Hajime blinks, then lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“You’re impossible,” he says when he catches his breath, then pulls on Kuroo’s arms, making Kuroo flail and fall toward him.

—

Kuroo’s hand slides down his arm. Hajime knows what it means, for the most part.

It means Kuroo’s antsy after watching the game from the sidelines. It means he was watching Hajime’s sweat drip and trickle down his neck, to the hollow space above his collarbone. It means Kuroo wants to reduce him into a quivering mess with his words later, just to watch Hajime bury his face into the bedding and bite back a moan. It means ignoring the lingering heat of Kuroo’s lips on his collarbones as he catches his breath the way Hajime’s done these past couple of months; feeling too much like they’re at a turning point.

Tooru’s eyes sharpen when he follows the movement, and soon enough he’s off, Yachi running a couple of steps to keep up with him. Hajime stares at Tooru’s retreating back, registering vaguely that Kuroo is asking if he wants to go over to his place to watch old tapes to prep for an oncoming game.

_Keeping up the front_ , Iwaizumi thinks, pushing aside the fact that recently their rendezvous end up with Hajime’s head pillowed on Kuroo’s thighs, eyes glued on old-timey _Godzilla_ classics that Hajime hasn’t touched since high school.

When Tooru’s finally out of Hajime’s line of sight, he turns slowly and places his hand on Kuroo’s shoulder, at almost the same height he would if he were to do the same thing to Tooru. “Not this time, Kuroo. Sorry.”

Kuroo’s offers a small smile, his eyes shining like he’s in on a secret. “Alright, Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> first off, _again_ , thank you, kitten, for writing your fic and indulging my noisy headcanons about it. special thanks to gia, who i have dragged into this rarepair hell with me, and tolerated my incessant screaming about this pairing, as well as my other twitter friends who've deigned to read this while it was unfinished.
> 
> thank you to my beta, [avoidingavoidance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance), for being my one of my writing idols and still reading through this, as well as reminding me that boxers and pants use plural pronouns for some godforsaken reason. gia's also made complementary (nsfw!) art featuring these two boys in her twitter, check it out [here](https://twitter.com/dicksyrups/status/1078272792087343104)!!
> 
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! you can reach me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/ejectpants/)!!


End file.
